


A Dream Reforged

by B_Radley



Series: The Laughing Beskad [9]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Love, Memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 06:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13852038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Radley/pseuds/B_Radley
Summary: A warrior remembers another, as she builds a future.





	A Dream Reforged

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SLWalker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SLWalker/gifts).



J’ohlana Wren wipes her hands on a rag as she eyes her almost-finished handiwork. She allows the tears to spill on her cheeks as she gently touches the surface of the chestplate.

She remembers her dreams of last night, as she lay in the arms of her future _riduur_. She had dreamed of the design of the raw, ancient plates of the _beskar_ from her collection. Armor a thousand years old—her most prized possession for forging and reforging. Armor that legend says had once belonged to Tarre Visla—the first known Mandalorian Jedi.

Most Mandalorians forged their own armor, with the help of a family member—usually a father or mother. A smith, either a master or a journeyman was always present to assist and oversee in this important step to adulthood.

She smiles softly. Armor this old, by tradition, could only be reforged by a master. She was only a journeyman smith.  These were new, uncertain times.

J’oh closes her eyes as the memories of the dream flow into her mind. She sees a figure in green armor—a strange green, with hints of black. She grins ruefully as she thinks of the search for that particular shade—a color prevalent on his other world—the world of his father. A world of other gamblers and dreamers. She curses as other memories flow past the figure in _beskar’gam_. A memory of a large figure with a face similar to hers, shoving her to the ground. _You’re such a dreamer, Lana’ika,_ Tommis had yelled at her, as her other brothers had laughed.

There had been another, higher pitched laughter that had followed the behemoth’s stunned silence when her ten year old body had risen from the ground and had stabbed him with a knife from the dinner table. Her eldest sister—the future Countess Wren had fallen to the ground laughing at Tommis’s bellow of pain.

Ursa had also pulled a blaster when Tommis had gone for J’oh. That had been the only time she had intervened—when Tommis’s blood rage had swelled beyond control.

J’oh pushes that memory away, fighting to retrieve the dream. There was someone else present in the dream. She sobs as she sees the blue and white lekku—the distinctive markings of the young Jedi who had been her salvation on Carlacc. A young woman, barely into mid-teens, younger than J’ohlana. The fighter who had shown J’oh a different path. A path of redemption.

J’oh’s eyes crinkle as she remembers the avatar of the young woman in her dreams. A young woman who had fought and learned with the man J’oh was about to marry. Later, she had grown into something more to him, as they both struggled to survive in the last few months of the Clone War. A struggle that the Jedi now known only as the Storm-King to her fellow combatants, was sure that the young woman had not survived; a struggle that he had barely lived through.

Her tears fall even more freely as she remembers seeing the holo in his helmet of the ex-Jedi. Right next to hers.

J’ohlana’s eyes snap open wide as she realizes something from the dream. The image of the young Togruta in her mind is different than her memory, or even the younger holo. The woman in her dreams is older. Not much, but noticeable. Her face is beginning to lose the roundness of youth, but has not quite become the leaner warrior that her features show the potential of. Her lekku are longer, both in front and back. She is taller, as are her montrals. The chevrons on her lekku, still the same vivid blue of her eyes, have begun to morph into something different than the uniform shapes.

She sees the young woman— _Ahsoka,_ that is what he had called her. Looking up with a smile—no, a Smirk, as that particular expression that spreads over her face can only be said with a capital letter—looking up at the armored figure.

The figures fade from her mind. She lets herself sob for several moments—the cries and tears for her love’s lost love.

She wipes her eyes and picks up the chestplate in one hand, and positions it in a vise. She picks up the plasma-wand, heating it to its highest. She begins to add texture to the armor. From the memory of her dream.

When she is finished, representations of that young woman’s lekku stripes are inset into the armor. The ones that she had seen in her dream.

A dream of hope. A dream of lost, but also found love.

She takes a deep breath and lowers the temperature of the plasma wand, allowing it to cool for a bit.

She grits her teeth and draws it over her arm. She ignores the pain. She immediately finishes the ritual of the Reforging, with her essence, as the smith, included in the armor. She draws the wound over the inside of the armor, building herself into the armor.

She smiles. She would make one more reminder of herself, in the colors of the armor, over his heart in the orange and black of her armor colors. Not as the smith, but as his mate.

A night and a day from now, she would stand before the Corellian and speak vows of her world and his. Binding herself to him.

She would never forget the dream, or the memory of the young Jedi.

The dream would linger in her mind and the memory would linger in what she had created—what she had reforged for him.

For both of them.


End file.
